


Authority

by indigostohelit



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angry Sex, Authority Challenge, Begging, Dominance Struggle, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Tony Snark, hints of Dom/Sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigostohelit/pseuds/indigostohelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the kink meme: So apparently Joss Whedon is going with the meet cute, where they first need to squabble and bicker before getting married heroing happily ever after.</p><p>It would be awesome if this phase of their relationship led to mutually consenting, up against the wall, struggle for dominance, who's-on-top angry sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authority

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сфера полномочий](https://archiveofourown.org/works/665506) by [Helga Winter (hwinter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwinter/pseuds/Helga%20Winter)



“You need to learn discipline,” Steve hisses, his breath warm in Tony’s ear. Tony is against the wall of his own bedroom, Steve pinning him there as effectively as a ton of bricks, and his hands are hot on Tony’s wrists and his face is so close to Tony’s that if Tony’s hands were free he could touch it.

Tony grins his special shit-eating grin up at the Captain. “I’m Tony Stark,” he says. “I don’t do discipline.”

“Yeah?” says Steve, pressing Tony a little harder into the wall. “Well, I don’t do _disobedience_ ,” and he’s so close, so _close_ , and Tony’s been acting out during Avengers meetings for a week and a half now just to drive that goddamn perfect super soldier to this point, working on him endlessly to make him surrender just one drop of that perfect self-control—

“Whatcha gonna do about it, Stevie Wonder?” he says, his grin growing wider. “You got some _punishment_ for me, brave leader? Gonna give me a time-out—gonna put me in the corner—gonna _spank_ me—”

“You,” snarls Steve, “are the most insufferable, insubordinate, impertinent, idiot that I have ever had the misfortune to command.”

Tony snorts. “Excuse me, I believe only one of us got the Nobel Prize for Physics here.”

Something comes out of Steve, deep and angry, and Tony thinks it might be a growl. Oh _my_ , this is better than he’d hoped. Imagined. Dreamed. Fantasized, all right, fantasized, but only fantasized a _little._

Okay, fantasized a lot. That’s not the point. The point is that Steve’s pressed so closely to Tony that he can feel that super-enhanced heartbeat, his eyes are dark with something that might be a little more than anger, and when Tony presses his hips forward just a quarter of an inch…

 _Ah._

He grins up at Steve and shoves his thigh in between his legs.

Steve’s startled, startled enough to let go of Tony’s wrists for a crucial second, and Tony uses that second to get his hands down and up Steve’s wonderfully tight white all-American T-shirt. Steve makes an outraged noise, so Tony figures he’ll shut him up, and kisses him as hard and hot as he can.

Steve _moans_. _Oh_ yeah.

His back’s still against the wall, so he doesn’t have a lot of maneuverability, but Tony manages to get Steve’s shirt mostly up and off his shoulders, pushing at it insistently when Steve refuses to stop kissing him long enough to let Tony pull it over his head. Steve pulls back for a moment to allow the T-shirt to be tossed onto the floor, and yeah, _that’s_ what Tony likes to see—his eyes are dark and wild, his cheeks are red, and his lips are already a little kiss-bitten.

“Don’t think this means you can get out of learning to obey _my_ orders,” he hisses at Tony, and almost against his will, Tony feels a shiver go all the way up and down his spine.

Shrugging it off, he laughs, low and husky against Steve’s bare chest. Steve’s breathing catches imperceptibly. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it,” he murmurs, and leans up to kiss Steve again, his hands running all over that perfect body, down and across the muscles of Steve’s chest and stomach. Steve groans from somewhere deep inside and takes a step back, and that’s all the leverage Tony needs.

In a moment he’s on top of Steve, pressing him down to the floor, straddling his hips, laying a trail of bites and kisses from his jaw down to his collarbone. When he hits a certain spot on Steve’s jugular, Steve makes a noise that Tony didn’t know it was possible for humans to do. He smiles against Steve’s skin and bites again, soothes with his tongue, kisses, bites, licks. Steve’s gasping under him, an incoherent mess, and Tony takes a moment to sit back on Steve’s lap and enjoy the sight of a writhing, needy super soldier desperate for his mouth.

It’s a mistake.

The moment he pulls away, Steve flips him over onto his back and has him pinned by his wrists again, this time to the floor. He’s glaring at Tony, but there’s still more than anger in that glare, and Tony smirks at him.

“I am the leader of this team,” says Steve, his voice rough enough to send a shock straight from Tony’s brain into his cock, “and you _will_ obey me.”

Tony says, “Sir, yes, _sir._ ”

In his defense, he’s pretty sure he meant it to be flippant.

“Good,” says Steve, and has Tony’s shirt over his head in a moment with the brutal efficiency of a soldier and his mouth biting and sucking on one of Tony’s nipples and Tony nearly _screams_ —holy hell, why is Steve even so _good_ at this, oh god, who cares so long as he doesn’t ever _stop—_ Steve’s moving down now, he’s got Tony’s button and fly undone and he’s pushing his jeans down around his ankles, he’s got them off—

He stops and stares.

Oh, right. The Captain America boxers.

“They were ten bucks at Target,” Tony offers.

Steve says, almost resignedly, “What am I even supposed to _do_ with you.”

“I have a few ideas,” says Tony, and spreads his legs invitingly. Steve’s eyes go darker, and he reaches for Tony’s discarded jeans, fishing around until he finds a bottle of lube and a condom in Tony’s back pocket. He raises an eyebrow.

“Some of us were in Boy Scouts of America from fourth to seventh grade,” says Tony primly.

Steve isn’t paying attention, though; he’s busy coating his fingers with lube until they’re glistening and Tony can hardly breathe. Sliding the boxers down his legs, he gently eases one, then two, then three into Tony, who throws his head back and spreads his legs wider. “I can take more,” he says, his voice catching on the words, “I’m ready, Steve, you don’t have to wait, do it, just—”

But Steve’s not doing anything, just flexing his fingers gently inside Tony, not nearly hard or often enough. Tony groans. “Steve,” he says, “Jesus, Steve, just get inside me already, just _fuck_ me, I want it—” and damn if that doesn’t earn a hitch in Steve’s breath, but he still doesn’t _do_ anything.

And finally Tony understands, what it is he has to do, what it is he has to say, but he chokes on the word. He won’t, dammit; he’s Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy superhero, and he has a Nobel Prize and a shitload of money and he doesn’t have to put up with this, he can walk away, he can—

Steve hits his sweet spot, and Tony nearly screams, and it comes out almost without his consent. “ _Please_ ,” he gasps. “Steve, _please_ , god, please fuck me, I want it, I want it so bad.”

“How bad?” asks Steve, and scrapes against that spot inside him again, and Tony moans.

“Bad,” he says, honestly. “Steve, please, I’ll do anything, I want you—Jesus—”

Steve’s inside Tony, thrusting into him again and again, burning and too big and _perfect_. Tony gasps for air and tries to clutch at Steve’s shoulders but can’t. Steve’s fucking into him, hitting his prostate again and again, and it’s so good, so _good_ , Tony hears incoherency spilling out of his mouth, a mixture of cursing and Steve’s name and mindless sounds of want he’d be ashamed to be making if he could even care right now—

There’s a choked, cut-off groan, and Steve goes limp above him. He sags onto Tony, his face relaxed. Tony has a single panicked moment before Steve’s hand is on his dick and he’s jerking him off slowly, lazily, like he has all the time in the world. Tony can’t do much more than breathe; this is Steve, this is _Steve_ , and Tony’s utterly at his mercy, and there’s something he doesn’t mind about that, not at all.

He comes all over Steve’s hand, and when Steve’s fingers slip in between his lips, Tony licks them clean as thoroughly as he can. Steve smiles at him, his eyes dark and sleepy. Tony thinks it might be the first smile from Steve he’s ever gotten.

“We’re sticky,” says Tony.

Steve hums, deep in his chest. “Do you have a shower?”

“Yeah,” says Tony. “A big one,” and he wiggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve considers. “No more backtalk at Avengers meetings.”

Tony’s pretty sure that isn’t a fair trade, but even though Steve’s looking at him sternly, there’s still the ghost of a smile around his lips, and Tony thinks he might have lost this round pretty thoroughly, because there’s already a part of him that’s thinking about nothing but how to get that smile back.

He gives up. “All right,” he says, and earns the smile and a long, warm kiss in return.


End file.
